Merriest Christmas Ever Page 7

  Small businesses couldn’t perform as efficiently as large ones. In the spreading offices of the City Times, everything ran like clockwork: computers clicking, faxes buzzing, presses rolling, everyone doing their job. The Daily Reporter’s workers were willing, but the operation was little more sophisticated than the high school newspaper.

  Gracie was one of the most capable members of the Clarion staff. Efficient, talented, even though she was only a freshman, she’d been willing to tackle any job he assigned her. The only time she’d ever hesitated, he’d asked her to interview the prom committee. Her eyes grew big with what he took for fear, but a second later, she agreed. He could have kicked himself afterward.

  Holly’s best friend, Beryl Marcum, was chairman of the committee, and recognized the blouse that Gracie had worn as one Holly gave to a clothing drive. When Beryl had smugly related the tale to Merett and Holly in the school cafeteria, Merett had stalked off, but Holly’s laughing taunt followed him. “Merett doesn’t like us talking about his little fan.”

  The news had quickly spread through the school, and Gracie hadn’t deserved that. When he’d told Mama what had happened, she’d been outraged as well. “A person doesn’t have to blow out someone else’s candle to make theirs shine brighter.”

  He’d often wondered if Holly wished she’d chosen his friend Pete Hancock over him. Pete was the CEO of a big company now, jetting all over the world.

  Slamming down his mug, Merett slopped coffee on the letter championing small business. Wiping it off with his thumb, he saw for the first time that it was signed, “Grace Singleton Saylor.”

  Big businesses served more people, and did a better job. Of course, as an entrepreneur starting out, she’d be all for the little guy. She was naïve and trusting, and probably making a huge mistake, starting a specialized decorating business in a burg like this one. You couldn’t start a small newspaper like the Reporter, and succeed nowadays. Reaching for his Indianapolis Star, Merett flipped it open to the business ads. If large corporations bought small companies all the time, chances were, there was a newspaper conglomerate looking for a small paper to buy. Gracie was taking a big chance on her business. If he stayed around and kept seeing her, he might ask her to take an even bigger chance on him, and she’d be a fool to do it.

  * * *

  Gracie was waiting for a traffic light to turn green, when a man in an overcoat and galoshes raised his hand and smiled at her. A paper carrier waved. People in small towns were friendly. Even when she lived on downtrodden Edge Road, townspeople treated her well. City folks were always in a hurry. It would be better for Kirsten if Merett raised her in Ferndale. Better for Gracie, too.

  She’d replayed the scene in the snow with Merett a hundred times. He wanted her as badly as she did him, and just knowing that made her happy. She’d played the scene as many times with them giving into their desires, but her conscience, or fears, kept playing censor, so that the police came back and carted them off before they actually made love.

  There were better places to make love than behind a shrub. Like in her feather bed, but Merett walked her home, gave her a quick hug, and said he couldn’t come in, did she understand? She did, and she didn’t. She’d never made love with anyone but her husband and she knew such a precious act should be reserved for marriage, but she wanted to make love with Merett.

  Gracie caught the next light on red, too, and rubbed her arm. Wearing the elastic bandage, her on-site work went well. She didn’t have any jobs after tomorrow’s tea room, but with the flyers she had sent, and the Holiday Open House she was planning, something would turn up soon. At her open house, she’d fit some wedding and anniversary pieces in with the holiday displays, for those people who were planning ahead into the new year.

  Someone behind her leaned on a car horn. Startled to see the light had turned green, she shot forward and nearly ran over a woman crossing on a “Don’t Walk” light. Slender with pale reddish-blonde hair pulled back, she walked with her head bent against the wind.

  Faithie. Was it her? The girl’s ears were red from the cold, and she wore tennis shoes—in the snow. Wheeling around the corner, Gracie edged along, trying to get a closer look. Without raising her head, the young woman ducked into Sandy’s Soda Shop.

  Not a parking place in sight.

  Precious minutes later, Gracie pulled into a lot two blocks away, and half-ran to Sandy’s. The stools at the counter were occupied. She didn’t see the girl she was looking for. Sandy was making a shake. “Did you see a girl come in here in jeans and a denim jacket?” Gracie asked.

  “A girl with a blondish pony tail bought something out of a machine and left.” Sandy nodded toward a vending machine at the end of the counter.

  Was Faithie too broke to eat anything but a candy bar? Sandy had owned the shop as long as Gracie could remember. “Was it Faith?”

  Sandy’s eyebrows shot up. “Your sister? No. I’m sure it wasn’t.”

  Gracie felt like a balloon with the air let out. Mumbling her thanks, she sank down in an empty booth facing the door. The yellow plaid wallpaper was the same as when they’d come here in high school, and she found the sameness comforting. The aromas of coffee and Sandy’s stew hung in the air. A lighted pie case displayed pies with meringue three inches high. The waitress came, and Gracie ordered a soda, something she hadn’t done since she left Ferndale. The sun shone brightly through the plate glass window on the same aluminum Christmas tree with blue tinsel that had stood there fifteen years ago. Someone dropped a coin in the jukebox, a love song oozed out, and Gracie felt like a schoolgirl, sipping soda, and watching kids play pinball at the front of the store.

  The door opened with a whoosh of cold air, in walked Merett Bradmoore, and it was just like old times. Except, back then, she’d waited hours for him to come and nod as he walked past. And today, flashing a smile, he headed directly her way.

  * * *

  Merett crossed the worn green linoleum, and sat down beside Gracie. “How did the bank jobs go?”

  She patted her well-stuffed shoulder bag. “I knocked them both off.”

  He laughed but quickly grew serious. “Are we all right?”

  “I am if you are.”

  “Good.” He motioned the waitress over and ordered a coffee. “The other night...I didn’t want to leave but...” He let his voice trail off. “And then last night, I’m sorry I got ticked off. What’s that you’re drinking?”

  “Sandy’s holiday special, a strawberry soda with pistachio ice cream. I haven’t had a soda in years.”

  “You know what I’ve been craving? Savino’s spaghetti. You can buy spaghetti all over New York, but no one makes it like that little Italian restaurant on the north side of Ferndale.” Holding his fingertips to his lips, he made a kissing sound. “Mama Mia.”

  Gracie chuckled appreciatively. “Spaghetti-O’s was our Italian treat growing up.”

  “If you’ve never been to Savino’s, you have to go. How about tonight? My treat.” Taking her to dinner couldn’t be too dangerous, and he’d love to take her places she hadn’t been.

  She touched his arm. “Don’t feel sorry for me for what I’ve missed. I’m okay with it.”

  Merett took her hand, and looked into her eyes. She was proud, and he hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings. “I want to take you to dinner, want to share something I love, and think you’ll love, too. I know I blow hot and cold sometimes, but try to bear with me, will you? Everything is so different...” He raised his hands, unable to say with Holly gone, and you back in my life.

  Gracie smiled. “I don’t know exactly what you’re saying, but I feel here that it’s all right.” She laid her hand over her heart.

  She was some woman. She understood him, and cared what he thought and felt. “Let me make one thing clear. I’m not asking you because I want to make up for things you missed, but things we missed. Together.” Both the other night, and fifteen years ago.

  Chapter Five

  “I have a date wit
h Merett Bradmoore.” Waltzing through her front door, Gracie scooped Spook up for a hug and gave him the news. She’d waited until Merett was out of sight before leaving Sandy’s, afraid she’d break into dance in the aisles.

  Her answering machine showed four messages. Listening to them, she grew giddier. The first was from a woman who wanted her to decorate the Daily Reporter office. The second was from the Country Club president who wanted to talk to her about decorating the ballroom. The third was from Harry Bradmoore who asked that she call him to discuss a couple of jobs. “Yes.” She punched the air, and Spook jumped out of her arms. Laughing, she listened to the fourth message.

  “Gracie? It’s Hope. I just called to say hello.”

  She immediately punched in her sister’s number. Family came first. Always. And Hope hadn’t called in too long. “Great to hear from you, sis.”

  “You sound cheerful. I guess your ghost hasn’t put in an appearance yet.”

  “Neither have you, and the Mirabelle story is a myth.”

  “People in Ferndale have told it for years, and folks here have heard it, too.”

  “Daleville is only twelve miles away, and I don’t care if they’ve heard the tale in Timbuktu. Or if it’s persisted since the beginning of time. The Mirabelle story is the reason I could afford this house.”

  That and your inheritance from Aunt Grace.”

  Gracie bit her lip. Their great aunt left her sole estate, five thousand dollars and the furnishings of her rented house, to her namesake. A windfall to her, the inheritance would have been a pittance to her sister. Hope lived in a custom built, professionally decorated home with her attorney husband, Frank, who gave her everything she wanted. Except a baby. Hope wanted a child desperately, and Frank refused, but that had nothing to do with Aunt Grace. Holding the receiver with her shoulder, Gracie riffled through the mail she’d brought in. “What’s really bothering you, Hope? You aren’t usually like this.”

  “Like what? Pouty, petty, and ill-tempered?” She laughed, and then sighed. “I’m just out of sorts”

  “I know something that will make you smile. Merett Bradmoore is back in town.”

  Hope squealed so loudly Gracie almost dropped the phone. She’d always thought her sister had a crush on him, too. “Then it was him I saw coming out of Bradmoore’s clothing store the other day. Is he working for his dad?”

  “He hated working there when he was in high school, so I don’t think so. He was a newspaper reporter in New York.”

  “He crossed the street to the Daily Reporter, but after working for a big city paper, he wouldn’t work at a place that size.”

  Gracie didn’t think so either, but right now, she wouldn’t care if he sold Popsicles on the street. Reining in her excitement, she announced casually. “Maybe I’ll ask him, when he takes me to Savino’s tonight.”

  A door slammed, and Hope spoke in a low voice. “Frank came in. I have to go.”

  * * *

  Gracie stomped up the stairs, and dumped bubble bath into the tub She had just shared the most amazing news of her life, and Hope hung up without comment.

  Running the steaming water, Gracie willed herself to calm down. If Hope wanted to drop everything every time her husband crooked his little finger, it was up to her. Sure, he was good to her, and loved her. But no better or no more than Gracie.

  Both her sisters had lives of their own. And they were her sisters, not her daughters. But it was hard to let go and stop worrying about them. Leaning her head back against the edge of the stately claw-footed tub, she took a deep breath. So she’d brushed their hair. Given them baths. Slipped them part of her food. Even a mother had to let their kids go.

  She took another deep breath, and deliberately turned her mind to something else. Someone else. Tonight, she would share an evening with Merett, as she’d so often dreamed. Merett. The honeysuckle scent and heat of the bath relaxed her taut muscles. Closing her eyes, she willed herself into a trance-like state where the shimmering bubbles, silky against her skin, became Merett’s fingertips, caressing her. Her belly grew taut, and her nipples hardened, and she bolted upright in the tub, sloshing bubbles over the edge. She was acting like a foolish old maid, aching with desire for a man who hungered for spaghetti, not her.

  Scrambling out of the tub, into a terry cloth robe, Gracie went downstairs to return her other phone calls. The phone rang a long time before anyone picked up at Bradmoore Men’s Store.

  “Hello. Hello?”

  Hearing Merett’s voice stunned Gracie, she eased the receiver into its cradle.

  He returned to his father’s business, after all. At the parlor window, she looked out at the snow glistening on her lawn in the twilight. She loved this house and her business. Merett worked at a job he disliked, and went home to his parents’ house at night. He must feel he hadn’t moved forward at all since high school. No wonder he ran hot and cold. She wished she could make him run “warm” more often. Maybe tonight...

  “Si-lent night.” The piano started to play, and half-closing her eyes, she imagined she saw Mirabelle Mayor sitting on the polished piano bench, playing for her lost love. Since its first rousing rendition, Gracie had accepted the player’s frequent performances without conscious notice. But tonight, the music touched her, and lifting the sides of her robe as she might a full skirt, Gracie danced up the steps to dress for her evening—with Merett.

  * * *

  Merett tucked his black and white striped shirt into charcoal wool pants. Leaving the top button of his shirt open, he slipped a black cashmere vee neck sweater over his head, brushed his hair, and went downstairs.

  Kirsten looked up when he entered the kitchen. “Where are you going, Daddy?” She had on Mama’s apron, hitched up with one of Dad’s belts. Both cooks had chocolate smears on their faces.

  “To dinner with a friend.” His father raised his eyebrows, and Merett knew it took all he had not to grin. “I didn’t know you could make fudge, Dad.”

  “I found Mama’s recipe, and we’re giving it a shot.”

  “Grampa’s going to take some to Gramma tomorrow. Can I go along?”

  Merett’s mouth watered, remembering Mama’s fudge. She spent weeks making candy and cookies before Christmas arrived. She would have loved teaching Kirsten to cook and bake. “We’ll see.”

  Kirsten dropped to her knees. “Oh, please, with fudge on top. I want to. When you say ‘we’ll see,’ you always say no.”

  “Why not let her, Merett?” his dad asked. “Just because...”

  “What?” Merett snapped, daring him to say because you won’t go.

  Kirsten said it for him. “Just because you’re too upset to see Grandma doesn’t mean I am. Even if she doesn’t know me, I know her.”

  His daughter’s eyes were trusting and innocent, and dammit, her cockamamie remark made sense. Merett kissed her fudgy cheek. Just because he was a coward, she didn’t have to be. Besides, she didn’t have the memories of Mama that he did. “I just didn’t want you to feel bad, Kirsten, because Grandma forgets things, and people. But you’re such a big girl now, I guess you can handle it.”

  Merett, looking up from Kirsten’s crushing bear hug to see his father batting back tears, felt like a heel for holding out so long.

  * * *

  Gracie donned a soft blue knit dress, adding a crystal star-shaped pin for a holiday touch. The long sleeves hid the bandage she still wore, but her arm barely hurt now. Gathering her hair high on her head, she looked in the mirror. She wanted to look nice, but not so festive he’d think this was the most thrilling moment of her lifetime. Shaking the curls in back loose, she anchored the sides with small gold combs.

  Downstairs, she turned on the tiny light over the stove and looked out the kitchen window. Across the yards in their brightly lit kitchen, her neighbors were doing dishes together, Margaret in a flowered robe, Homer in IU sweat pants and shirt. Sonny wouldn’t carry his own dishes to the sink, but neither would her father. Men in their old neighborhood hi
d their lack of success behind long-winded boasts about other triumphs, or in Pop’s case, preaching against the evils of materialism.

  Gracie stood beneath mistletoe in the doorway to the darkened living room and inhaled the crisp scent of pine. She’d decorate her two trees soon. Most likely, she’d do it alone, unless she could persuade Hope to visit. Headlights swung around the corner, casting soft light on the snow-covered street, and Gracie ran to the window to watch Merett hop out of the Jeep and swing up the walk. Tall. Handsome. Eager? Her heart quickened with hope. Maybe he’d help her decorate her tree if tonight went right.

  * * *

  “Savino’s used to be quiet on weeknights,” Merett looked around the crowded room. He didn’t know what had come over him, asking Gracie to dinner. She looked so beautiful, he scooted his chair as close to hers as he could.

  Glowing candles on wooden tables dripped colored wax down squat wine bottles. An Italian with a bushy mustache and a violin tucked under his chin strolled from table to table. The place was a cliché, but Merett liked it and when he filled Gracie’s wine glass, her eyes shone like a child’s on Christmas morning.Raising the deep red liquid to her lips, she sighed, sounding contented. “How long have you been back in town, Merett?”

  “Kirsten and I came back in May when school was out.’

  “Your birthday month. The nineteenth, right?”

  His father bought the Daily Reporter for his thirty-third birthday. It had been an unwanted but very generous gift. He reached out and toyed with the class ring she wore on the finger where she’d once worn a wedding band, surprised she knew his birthday. “How did you know?”